Tuesday, February 3, 2009

on them sticks

The drift of the marshes at nightwhere the walls of litmus slide over ground amber infinitygrief held back turning into baitfor that evenings fight

a sensible shape floats along the streeta yellow round soft snow flakefalls relaxes then it accumulateslifts dirt on the sole of your shoeleaves you tied to the tracks your arms spread out just like thatyour legs felt like jelly it makes you giddy like too much tellyit does not matter any way becausethey all went awaynever understoodnever defined

never seemed like that when we lived on the street behindthe back

It always felt okay when we breathedbut now you haveleft it is hardto remember when